


Ferrum

by Theoriginaleverythingtrash



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alchemy AU?, And gratuitous use of memory loss, Assassins, Canon is... largely ignored, F/M, Fjorester in the background, However if people are woefully out of character, If there's room for Beauyasha, Let's call it that, M/M, Obviously this isn't canon-compliant, Royalty, Slow Burn, There's secret society stuff, Widomauk eventually, a mystery for the ages, it will be here, please let me know, sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15594936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoriginaleverythingtrash/pseuds/Theoriginaleverythingtrash
Summary: It's been twenty years since the King and Queen met their fiery ends. Their son Caleb has worked tirelessly since that night, trying to piece together what happened, and, more importantly, why it happened. This has left him unprepared to become King himself, and, worst of all, no closer to answers. And then a man falls from the ceiling, bearing the same mark that Caleb has carried since the fire. He's sure of two things; this man is connected to everything, and that he's also an assassin who'd been sent to kill him. But when it's revealed that this man remembers absolutely nothing about how he got his mark, it's up to their very unlikely team to follow new leads and eke out what happened to all of them.





	Ferrum

Sometimes, Caleb suspected he was the only one who went inside the library at all. The candles in the scones were rarely burned, the books hardly moved from their places on the shelves, and the chairs were in the same position every time he entered the room. Of course, it couldn’t be true. It would be dustier inside if that were the case.  
The library was nearly pitch dark. No candles were lit, no light filtered in from the large stained glass windows around the place. He was hardly surprised; it had taken him most of the day to track down the stack of books and scrolls in his arms.

Still, he was only human. Though he was certain he could find his way to his desk blind, he prefered that he didn’t crush any of the scrolls he’d taken so long to get his hands on. So, here and there on his way to the farthest corner, he’d cast a flame on the tip of his right index finger, taking the utmost care not to burn anything he was holding. Then, he’d light a candle, giving off just barely enough light to see by. 

He’d moved his desk to the most secluded part of the library many years ago. He didn’t like to be easy to find, never had. Least of all by his tutors. The desk was wedged in the back of an aisle, flanked by a mostly empty bookshelf on the left and the stone wall of the castle on the right. The portrait of a long-dead noblewoman hung on the wall above it, a tapestry depicting the slaying of a dragon on the wall to the right. When he glanced over at the tapestry, he grimaced. It was all crumpled, the dragon’s flame and hero’s sword completely hidden form view. He clucked his tongue, shifting the weight of the books to one side as he reached out to straighten it again. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about it. 

Upon lighting the oil lantern resting on one of the shelves next to his desk, he cursed under his breath. His desk was a mess. Papers were still littered over its surface, quill still resting in its inkwell. He must’ve left them out last night. With a resigned sigh, he shoved the papers to the side, starting at the unexpected clattering of a half-empty teacup that had been just out of sight. It seemed that everything was a mess tonight. Careful not to spill the tea or the ink, he set down the stack of books and scrolls. He plunked down in his chair, unfurling the first scroll in the stack.

He did so with a very delicate touch. The parchment felt incredibly old. He was afraid it’d crumble beneath his fingers if he held it with any more force than it took to grip a pencil. And yet, for as ancient as the scroll was, it was there all the same. The sigil. An arrow, pointing up, with two lines at its base. He knew what it meant by heart now: Ferrum. Iron. Whichever. It made no difference to him. Every single source he’d found told him it was an alchemical symbol. But knowing that meant almost nothing to him. It still didn’t explain who those people had been, the night of the fire. The night everything broke. 

Almost nothing on the scroll was new information to him. It said the same things the other books had; alchemy, iron, equivalent exchange, a few throwaway lines about an organization that, while still active when the scroll had been written, had died out centuries before. He’d come across many bits and pieces about this alchemist’s guild. The little leatherbound journal he’d been keeping since he was nine was packed full of them. He debated with himself for a moment before dipping the quill into the somewhat dry inkwell. There was probably already an entry with these exact words in it, yet still he began furiously copying down anything he couldn’t remember seeing before.

It only took him a few moments to do so. There wasn’t much to begin with. Just as he started to carefully roll the scroll back up, ready to move on to the next, he felt… something. He wasn’t sure what it was. Just a slight tingling on the back of his neck. He thought for a moment maybe someone was standing behind him, but when he turned, he was as alone as ever. Part of him was willing to chalk it up to paranoia, or sleep deprivation. Another part urged him to search deeper into the shadows, because a hidden danger was certainly lurking there.  
But then the silence was broken by a frenzied skittering sound and a soft chorus of; “Shitshitshitshitshit!”. He forgot entirely about the feeling as the goblin woman came into view, barely visible in the dim candlelight. She looked even more haggard than usual, mud staining her hands and knees, twigs caught in the hair that hung loose from her hood. She doubled over, hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. Concern bloomed in him immediately, and he rose to kneel beside her, placing an inquisitive hand on her shoulder. 

“Are you alright, Nott? What has happened?” he asked. She waved off the question, still panting heavily. 

“I just…” she began breathlessly, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Y’see it’s… actually a… a funny story…”

He knew what had happened immediately, his concern lessening slightly with the certainty. 

“Who did you take it from?” he asked, careful not to come off as admonishing. She couldn’t help herself. It was in her nature to see a shiny bauble or trinket and feel a strong urge to steal it. He couldn’t (and wouldn’t) fault her for that. He only wished that she’d be more careful. 

“A woman with... lots of pretty jewels…” Nott replied. Slowly, she produced a gold and ruby brooch from her pocket. It looked brand new, unscuffed and gleaming. Nott’s voice turned soft and crooning. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“It is quite nice,” he couldn’t help but agree. But all that aside, he had a few guesses as to why she was covered in mud and looked so skittish. “You were seen?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, immediately tucking the brooch away again. “I know, I know I promised after the last time that it wouldn’t happen again, and I almost got away! But her perfume, it made my nose itch and I tried not to but I sneezed and she saw me and…”

“It’s alright,” he interrupted, halting her slew of explanations. He placed a comforting hand over her much smaller ones, easing her guilt significantly. “Just… lay low for a little while. Please?”

“Alright,” she replied, head hung. He patted her cheek, offering one of his rare smiles. 

She opened her mouth, exposing pointed teeth, to say something else. But a pounding of feet was heard from the hall beyond the library’s large double doors, making their way into the room. The two shared a very brief look of fear before Caleb sprang into action. Moving quickly, he pushed Nott under his desk, whipping his coat off and hanging it over the back of his chair to block all view. He sat down, pulled in his chair, bending over his books just as the guards reached the end of his aisle. His heart was hammering as he looked back at them, feigning annoyance.

“What is it?” he asked, voice thankfully even and sufficiently haughty. The first guard of the three stood taller at the words.

“Pardon us, your… uh… Sir,” he replied, a little out of breath. Caleb quirked a brow, gesturing for him to get on with it. He took a moment to compose himself, his next words significantly less winded. “We’re looking for a goblin, Sir. It stole the Countess’ brooch in the garden. We had its trail up until this hallway. It didn’t come in here, did it?” 

“I assure you,” he replied authoritatively, turning more fully in his chair. “If a- if a goblin had come in here, I wouldn’t be here calmly working. No. No one has come in here but you.”

“Do you mind if we do a quick search?” asked another of the guards. Caleb’s heart leapt into his throat, but he remained calm. 

“Yes. Yes, actually, I do. You’d only be distracting me and losing it’s trail. Move along.”

“Sir,” he replied with a deep nod. Then, mercifully, they turned and rushed back the way they’d come, footsteps disappearing down the hall once again. 

Only when he couldn’t hear them anymore did he let out a sigh of relief. He pulled his chair back and peered under the desk. Nott’s yellow eyes looked back at him, glowing slightly and looking equally relieved.

“Thank you,” she practically sighed as she crawled back out from her hiding place. She straightened her clothes out a little, composing herself. “You really saved my skin.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied sincerely. “Just… remember what I said.”

“Lay low, yes,” she said with a nod. “I think I could manage a few weeks in the back room, if you can get me a few bottles of brandy.”

“Of course, whatever you will need.”

As the adrenaline form such a close encounter finally began to subside, Nott glanced up at the stack of books on his desk. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Her demeanor changed right before his eyes, only slightly, but just enough. The skittishness waned, leaving behind the aspect of her that Caleb had love-hate relationship with.

“Still nothing new?” she asked, a tinge of concern lingering in the back of her words. He gave a short, bitter laugh. 

“Of course not,” he said, unfurling another scroll. His next words were barely more than a mutter. “After twenty years, I don’t know why I’m still disappointed.”

“What?” she asked, brows furrowed. 

“Nothing, just… whoever these people were, they certainly aren’t making it easy to find out what they wanted.”

Silence fell again. He shifted his focus to the scroll, which just contained more ancient accounts of the alchemist’s guild. Still, he copied a few sentences. The more information he had, the better. He thought for a moment that Nott had left, or at least gone to another area of the library looking for trinkets to swipe. That was until he heard her sigh heavily beside him.

“I don’t suppose…” she began, her tone very gentle. He could already tell where this was going. She only brought out that tone for very specific situations. “You could be… persuaded… to…”

“I won’t give up, Nott, no matter how many times you tell me that’s what my parents would want,” he snapped, whirling around in his chair. Any resentment he’d felt dissipated upon seeing her flinch away. Guilt began to gnaw at him immediately. She was only trying to help him. She was only ever trying to help him. He softened again, lips pursed. “Scheisse… I’m…” He rose from his chair, kneeling at her level. “I’m sorry, I did not meant to…”

“No, no,” she replied, waving off his concern. She lowered her hood, freeing her tangled mess of black hair. She smiled amicably, and he felt even worse. “It’s my fault. You’ve made your feelings very clear.” Her smile fell, hand running up and down her arm. Her gaze shifted from his face to the floor. “I’m just… worried…”

“I know,” he replied. He’d heard all her worries. Many, many times. About his health, about his lessons, about his future, about what (if anything) he planned on doing with himself. He never had any answers for her. 

“The court and the council let you do whatever you like since…” She shook her head, deciding better of finishing the sentence upon seeing the shift in his expression. She wasn’t nearly as careful with her words as he wished she was, but he was grateful that she made an effort. She sighed before continuing. “The coronation is only a month from now. Your parents deserve justice, and I assure you, no one would say otherwise, but… Caleb, it’s been twenty years! You’re going to be king soon and you’re nowhere near ready!”

It wasn’t a question. He knew that, and still, he felt pressured to give her an answer. He didn’t wave off her many questions because he was tired of hearing them; he did so because he had no answers for her. It was no different this time. He had no idea what to say. Luckily, he was spared from scrambling to find an answer. Not just because he knew she wasn’t expecting one. That was the least of the reasons. No, most of why he was spared having to provide anything that even approached an explanation was because, at that precise moment, a man in a servant’s uniform fell from the ceiling. He landed with a heavy thud on the tiles, just between Caleb’s chair and the wall. He didn’t move after that. Caleb guessed that the fall had knocked him unconscious. If it hadn’t simply killed him. 

“What the hell?!” Nott exclaimed, scrambling back along with Caleb. He couldn’t help but agree. Despite the shock, he knelt next to the man, pressing his fingers to his neck. Nott peered over his shoulder, still too afraid to get any closer. “Is he… dead?” 

“N… no…” he replied, voice wavering just as much as hers. He could feel his heartbeat, but it was getting slower and slower by the second. Something was wrong. He reached over to grab the man’s arm with fumbling hands, pulling him onto his back. His heart hammered even harder, words caught in his throat, when he saw the dagger plunged into the man’s abdomen, just under his ribs. Caleb withdrew his hands in horror. “Shit… shit, shit, what… Who is this?”

“A servant?” Nott asked, peeking around his arm. Her gaze flickered from the unconscious tiefling to the ceiling. “How did he get up there?”

“There isn’t time!” he replied, feeling on the man’s wrist his pulse fading further and further. “Something is wrong…”

“Well, yeah, he’s been stabbed,” she replied, completely deadpan. Caleb whirled on her. 

“I can see that,” he said. He scrambled to think of what to do. “He’s dying…” That much was certain. And there was really only one person who could prevent that from happening. “Nott, go get Jester!”

“I thought you told me to lay low! They’re still looking for me!” Even still, she had already begun backing away to do so. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He remembered. Then there was only one thing for it. He reached into his pocket, mercifully finding a small coil of copper wire. He extracted it, tossing it to Nott. “Send her a message then!”

“Right!” She began coiling the wire immediately. Once it was prepared, she began to speak into it hurriedly. “Jester, come to the library quickly, there’s a stabbed man and Caleb says he’s dying, please hurry!”

She released the wire and it zipped off. He could only hope that she wasn’t too far. He had no idea how long the man had left. Nott began to pace, fidgeting her hands and nervously glancing to the man and Caleb every so often. Caleb was applying compressions to the man’s chest, trying his damndest not to jar the knife. The buzz of urgency hadn’t faded, but now that help was on the way, he took a moment to actually look at the man. Curled horns, thin tail with a spade at the end, probably purple skin. His hair may have been deep blue, maybe black. The longer Caleb looked, the less certain he was that this man was one of the palace staff. They had tieflings on the staff, but only a handful. Caleb was often ignorant of insignificant details, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this particular tiefling before. 

But before he could decide for certain, her heard yet another set of feet sprinting into the room. It was only one pair, thankfully. Jester appeared in the entryway to the aisle, rushing to take Caleb’s place at the man’s side. She plopped down her case of medical supplies. 

“Aw, jeez, he looks really bad,” Jester said breathlessly, checking his eyes. They were bright crimson and completely unresponsive. She clucked her tongue, reaching down and yanking the dagger from his abdomen with little concern. Then she looked up at Caleb. “Press down on that, please.” 

He was wary, of course. But watching the blood seep out from the wound at an alarming rate, he did as she asked. He only had to do so for a second. She patted the man’s cheek, and the blood flow stanched immediately. He gave her an expectant look as she pressed her fingers to his neck. She pursed her lips, and Caleb could guess that there was something else wrong besides the stab wound. Much to his surprise, she picked up the dagger again and sniffed the blade experimentally. She nodded knowingly.

“Poison. No wonder… Smells like drow poison though, I think I have something for that in my…” She opened her kit, rooting through until she found a small glass vial. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled up his shirt, exposing the wound and many, many tattoos, then proceeded to pout the contents of the vial over it. It didn’t seem to make a visible difference, but Jester looked pleased. “That should do it.”

“...Is he gonna wake up?” Nott asked, looking anxiously at the man’s face. He wasn’t sure which was worrying her more, the thought that he might not wake up or that he would.

“Probably,” she said with a noncommittal shrug. Then she turned to Caleb. “Which one of you stabbed him?” 

“We didn’t do this!” Caleb replied, holding up his hands.

“He fell from the ceiling!” Nott added. Jester looked between the three of them, tapping her chin.

“Do you think someone tried to murder him?” she asked, her voice more serious than usual.

“I don’t know what I think,” Caleb said, looking down at the man again. This whole situation was highly perplexing. There weren’t many clues, either. How would anyone have gotten him up to the ceiling after stabbing him? And why? To scare Caleb? No, no, that made no sense. He glanced up to roughly where the man had fallen from. There were of course rafters, and a few support beams in the corner just above his desk. He was likely tucked away in there. That was when he remembered. The large tapestry on the wall. It had been crumpled when he’d first arrived. No one ever touched them besides when they got taken down for cleaning. But it was bolted quite securely to the wall. He supposed it could be climbed. Caleb swallowed hard. “He was in the rafters.”

“Well, yeah,” Nott replied, glancing up. “That was obvious.”

“No, no,” he said with a shake of his head. He ran a hand through his hair, not quite wanting to believe the conclusion he’d come to. “I think… he was waiting up there.”

“Then who stabbed him?” Jester asked, leaning in with fascination. 

“... I don’t think anyone did,” he said, fingers turning cold at this truly horrifying train of thought. “When he fell, he…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, not when he was so close to the man. He stood, backing away as terror began to floor his veins. “The knife was for someone else. He just fell on it.”

“Caleb?” Nott asked, crossing to his side. He had gone sickly pale, eyes the size of saucers. 

“He was going to kill me,” he finished softly. His breathing turned shallow, his hands beginning to shake despite himself. That feeling, from before Nott had come into the room… He must’ve been about to strike then. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of death. If it hadn’t been for Nott… 

“Well, you don’t know for sure,” Jester added, leaning back on her hands. This was typical of Jester, always looking for the positive no matter how bad the situation was. Normally it was welcome; Caleb wasn’t so sure about this time. 

“Why else would he be waiting in the rafters with a poisoned dagger right above my desk?” Caleb snapped, delayed panic beginning to set in. 

“But why would anyone want to kill you?” she continued, cocking her head. “You’re a sweetheart!”

Caleb could think of two reasons off the top of his head, but she did have a point, albeit faintly. There was no clear motive. Aside form the fact that he was going to be king soon, or perhaps it had something to do with the people who had killed his parents. He couldn’t know for certain though. But that gave him an idea. He fell to his knees beside the man again, rifling through his pockets, looking for anything that might explain why this had happened or who he was. Unfortunately, his pockets were all empty. Not even so much as lint. He groaned in frustration and was about to stand up and pace as he tried to think of what to do about this when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was just barely visible, but it was there all the same. The man was absolutely covered in tattoos, and he’d seen that before. But what he saw now was a very particular tattoo, just above the man’s hip bone. An arrow, pointing up with two lines at the base. He just barely contained a gasp.

“Jester, can you wake him up?” he said, looking up at her urgently. 

“I can try,” she replied. She rose to her knees on the opposite side of the man, took hold of his shoulders, and began shaking him vigorously. “WAAAAAAKE UUUUUUUPPPP!” He did not, despite her efforts. Eventually, she let go of him and shrugged. “I tried. He was poisoned, might take him a few days.” 

“A few days?” he replied incredulously. Jester held her hands up defensively before Nott spoke up again. 

“Should we… call the guards?” she asked, fidgeting with her newly acquired brooch. “Or… should we… take care of it ourselves?”

“No, no, we… we can’t kill him,” he said immediately. What to do, what to do? There was really only one option that he could see. The man had the same mark that had been mocking him for two decades. He had to have answers, and that was precisely what Caleb needed. He quickly created a plan in his head, then turned to Jester. “Can you promise not to tell anyone about this?” 

“Sure thing!” she chirped with a grin. 

“And can you carry him?”

She snorted, bending and hoisting him over her shoulder with ease. With that sorted, Caleb turned his attentions on Nott. 

“Can we keep him in your room?” She made a face at that. He couldn’t say he blamed her. “Just until he wakes up. You can sleep with me until then, ja?”

“... Alright,” she said, though she was clearly displeased at the prospect. “Why can’t we just keep him in the dungeon?”

“I don’t want anyone to find out he’s here just yet, that is all. I want a chance to deal with the situation before getting anyone else involved.”

“Ooo, ooo, do I finally get to see Nott’s secret room?” Jester added delightedly. 

“I suppose so,” Nott replied, her tone gone sour. “Assassins, doctors, everyone gets to know about the goblin’s secret room.”

But that was her last complaint on the matter. Caleb gave her a look that promised further explanation as the odd team made their way towards Caleb’s apartments. Luckily, due to the late hour, he knew that the halls would be largely abandoned. Even despite his previous fear, he couldn’t help the slow spread of excitement. Finally, for the first time in twenty years, answers had literally fallen into his lap. He was one steps closer to understanding what had happened to him, to his parents. And that was very exciting indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> So... as I confessed in the tags, I'm not sure exactly where to go next with this. It will go... somewhere. But it'll probably be... strange. Still entertaining though, I will make certain of that. Bear with me on this one.


End file.
